Staying in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 1)

Then I thought, hell, why make her choose? I take her to The Venetian first, trying not to notice how fucking adorable she is, bouncing with excitement in the passenger seat. I should have picked a shorter, tighter skirt so I’d get a peek at some thigh, but otherwise, this is exactly what I envisioned when I offered to take this nerd to a bookstore. Laurel Price does not disappoint.

She’s such a fucking tourist, though. I figured she would be, so I take her the long way, letting her check out the exterior before hauling her inside where she’ll really be impressed.

She’s talking my ear off about everything she has ever heard about The Venetian as we head inside. I nod politely and slow down when we get to the gleaming pillars outside the bookstore, waiting for her to notice.

She fi

nally ceases talking and slows to a stop, following my lead. Laurel gasps when she sees it, staring ahead at the shelves of old books inside the store. Then she drifts forward like there’s a magnet inside, pulling her across the threshold.

Her voice lowers like we’re in a library. “Rafe, look at these books. Have you ever seen so many beautiful bindings?” She looks down at the display, her fingers reaching out like she wants to touch them, but she walks around, too tempted by the rows of colorful spines in the bookcase behind it.

I follow her, moving up behind her and murmuring, “I have, actually. I have a pretty impressive library in my house.”

She looks back at me, eyes wide. “You do? Why didn’t you show it to me?”

I rest a hand lightly on her waist, reaching past her to pluck a dark green book off the shelf behind her. “I only had you at my house for one night, kitten. I didn’t get to show you everything.”

Her cheeks flush, and I can practically see her remembering the other room I told her about, but didn’t get to show her.

“I want to get married here,” she informs me.

I crack a smile as I replace the book on the shelf. “I don’t think they host weddings.”

Her attention has already moved on. She gasps, running her fingers across a lovely set of leather bound Brontë books. “Look at these. Oh, my God, this place is exquisitely torturous. Look at the price tag for me. I can’t bear it.”

I grab Jane Eyre and open the cover, checking for a price tag. Oftentimes the price will be listed right on the shelf, but this one is on a slip of paper inside. “They’re not bad, actually. Only thirteen for the whole set.”

Laurel blinks. “I don’t suppose there’s some reality where you mean thirteen dollars?”

I shake my head, handing her the book to look at. “Add a few zeroes.”

Sighing, she flips a few pages. “They’re so pretty. Does your library have any Brontë?”

“I’m sure it does.”

Raising an eyebrow at me, unimpressed, she asks, “You don’t know?”

“There are a lot of books. I don’t keep a running inventory in my head. You can check next time you’re at my house, I’ll show it to you.”

Still unimpressed with me, she mutters, “If you have them, I’m going to steal them and you won’t even know. Clearly, you don’t love them adequately and you don’t deserve them.”

Laurel turns her back to me so she can replace the book on the shelf, and I take advantage, placing my hands on her hips and moving close. “I would love for you to steal something from me, kitten. I have so many punishments lined up for you already, but I’ll gladly come up with a few more if you’re so inclined.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” she murmurs, attempting to ignore my hands on her as she peruses books. Landing on one called The Professor, she says, “I haven’t read this one. Have you?”

I’m close enough to smell her shampoo. I tip my head so she feels my breath on her neck. “I have not.”

I hear her swallow, and it makes me smile. “Have you heard about personal space? It’s a thing some people really appreciate.”

“I have. I give it to plenty of people. Just not women I’ve been buried balls deep inside,” I inform her.

“Really?” she asks, mildly. “Then I’m surprised you’re not crowding half the city. You’ve fucked nearly all of them, right?”

“Only the pretty ones,” I assure her.

She groans like I’m killing her. “You’re the worst.”

I can’t help grinning. “That’s not what you were saying a few nights ago when you were straddling my lap and grinding your pussy against me.”